BELLINGHAM,

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CHAPTER XXV.

Bellinjum, and its Neighbourhood-Pleasant Road- Wark-NunwickSimonburn-Epitaphs-A large Parish-Mental Culture and Horticulture-The Castle-Foot of North Tyne-A Summary-The Roman Wall-Be ye goin' to dig it up?—An Examination-History and Masonry-Musing on the Wall-The Prophecy-Reminiscences-A lasty Wall-Procolitia-Wild Country-Wallshiels-SewingshieldsCliffs-Legends-Busy Gap-Rogues and Vagabonds-Agricola and Hadrian-Description-The Castles and Camps-The British Tadmor -Roman Relics-Past and Present.

BELLINJUM, as the natives call it, is a small rusticlooking town, built on the slope of a hill on the left bank of the Tyne. It still retains a few of the old thatched houses, and from the inn you may see the chimneys and great refuse-heap of an iron smeltingfurnace, which once kept the place busy and increased its population. But as the landlord tells, the works were stopped nine years ago, and it remains to be seen. whether the railway will reopen them. It communicates with Elsdon by a road across the heart of the country, where, if minded to explore, you may trace the course of Watling Street, and journey on to Bremenium and Chevy Chase.

As the bridge is about half a mile above the town, you arrive and depart by the same road. On recrossing I saw that the freshet was well nigh exhausted, but the stream had not yet recovered its summer clearness. Then following on down the right bank, we come presently to a brow, whence the prospect, looking back,

is remarkably pleasing: the town seems to be lying in a deep basin, surrounded by green and wooded slopes, greenest where cultivated, which rise into the dark bare moorlands: the hills that look down on Keeldar are visible in the north, and the river adds the charm which belongs to gleaming curves of running water. Behind Bellingham we see the fells of Redesdale; and nearly opposite where we stand, the Reed mingles its waters with the Tyne.

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As we come to the opposite side of the brow, the view opens to the pale blue hills above Allendale, and down the valley to the south, with yet more of the charms of verdure and foliage. Every mile discloses new beauties now a burn running across the road from a thickly-wooded glen; now the river bank rising steep and picturesque at a noisy bend; now a sylvan hollow where copse, honeysuckle, and wild roses delightfully intermingle; and wheatfields mark our arrival in a region of generous soil and genial climate. And all these charms are heightened by the hilly nature of the landscape.

The village of Wark-not to be confused with Wark on the Tweed-has a thriving appearance; a suspensionbridge spans the river; and there is something characteristic in the signs of the public-houses: The Highland Drove; The Colt; The Moorcock. Poor coal is dug here from a hill, entered by a horizontal gallery. A little farther along the pretty road, and we see Chipchase Castle, finely situate on the left bank.

Anon we come to Nunwick, where a road on the right leads to Simonburn, a village worth turning aside for, and but a quarter of an hour distant. A quiet rural spot a few houses looking across a green; at one side a venerable church, which has touches of ivy,

a bell-gable, and some architectural features of the olden time, to relieve the ugliness of the sash windows. The epitaphs show the skill of the rustic bard, who makes an aged man say :

Tired with traveling, through this world of Sin,
At length I'm come, to Nature's common Inn :
In this dark place here, for to rest a Night,

In hopes t'rise, that Christ may give me Light.

In another, an honest couple remind us of their calling in a precept which limps cruelly in its logic :—

Stop passenger as you go by
And view those heaps of dust
While in the publick life we lived

In God we put our trust

But why should you lament the loss
Or morn for us that is gone

Prepair your self to bear the Cross
Or here you can not come

Simonburn was once the largest parish in the county, more than thirty miles long, stretching away to Liddelsdale; and the dwellers in the northern part had to content themselves with the most meagre spiritual diet, until a division was made, and a clergyman located at Falstone. Now, the village, though quiet and retired, shows no signs of neglect: it has a new schoolhouse, well-built, and cheerful of aspect; and in the public-house there hangs a list of the Simonburn Floral and Horticultural Society.

Follow the lane which leads west from the green for about a mile, you come to a pretty dell, from which a burn dances forth to the sunlight. Beyond rises a steep hill, a grand mass of foliage, so thickly is it overovergrown with ash and beech, up which ascends an inviting path. Go up, and on the top you will see what remains of Simonburn Castle, a relic of one of

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the old peel-houses. The northern end still stands, finished above by embrasures and turrets; the portion behind is much dilapidated, nothing left but fragments of walls, a low doorway and vault. The story runs that the ruin is mainly due to the villagers, who, years ago, in the belief that a treasure was buried in the castle, dug up and pulled down in a vain attempt at discovery. There is but little in the relic itself to gratify the lover of the picturesque; but the site, the glimpses of distant landscapes, the gleamy vistas seen between the trees, amply repay the excursion. As if to make the contrast between Past and Present the more complete, a little cottage now stands on the hill-top, and the garden with its few flowers and peas and cabbages touches the very foot of the old wall.

Returned to the high-road, the next rise gives us a prospect over the lower course of the North Tyne; Warden hill is in sight, which we saw on the day of our ramble past the confluence of the two streams near Hexham. Another half hour would bring us to Chollerford, where, if the water were low and clear enough, we might see the remains of the bridge built by the Romans across the river.

I was content to travel over this portion of the ground with my eye, being desirous to see yet more of the western side of the county. I could now picture Northumberland to my mind-its sea-margin, its fertile coast region, its well-tilled midlands, merging into the hills browsed by bleating flocks, and these again into the bleak, boggy fells; the valleys, with their crags and woods and crystal streams; the smoky region, the more than two hundred square miles of coalfield, with its turbulent, money-making industry. Now I found it

easy to comprehend why Northumberland has 450,000 acres of wastes, and fewer parishes and more castles than any other county in the kingdom. Up in Tynedale a single grazing farm would make three or four Norfolk parishes; and how is a churchman to live where people are so much fewer than sheep? I had now fairly looked at the county in its length and breadth, and in what remained to be seen on the way to Carlisle there was enough and more to employ and entertain the few days which I could yet call my own.

Turning, therefore, into the first bye-way on the right, I came in about half-an-hour to a broad road, running east and west up a long hill-side. That is the military road which was made by the government to facilitate the keeping of the country quiet after Prince Charlie's invasion. On the northern bank, masking a couple of cottages, stands Tower Tye, a mass of wall, as it were the side of an old peel, thickly covered with ivy; a pleasing object in the landscape. You would scarcely pass without pausing to look on the clustering foliage, and how much more when you know that here is the line of the Roman Wall.

The Roman Wall; you look round. Where? You see the cross-road, and fields, and trees; but no sign of a wall. Let us go in at the gate, and stand on the bank with our back to the ivy, and look attentively down the slope of the hill. We there see the course of the wall, shown by a broad straight stripe across the wheat-field, of a darker green than the rest. On that stripe stood the wall, accompanied by foss and vallum; and little by little, as our eyes become accustomed to the appearance, we can make out the linefarther off, and note the depression of the foss in the growing crops. And here close in the rear of the cottages we